Here's To Growing Up
by Letheanlove
Summary: HIATUS. Blake is a lonely teen who just wants to escape the town he is stuck in. But when a mysterious boy appears and offers to take him to a place called Neverland, Blake learns a thing or two about the joys of being young. / OOC Peter Pan. AU of sorts. OC main. T for potentially heavy topics (just to be safe) and violence. Updates as often as I am able. Reviews welcome.
1. 1 Intruder

I never thought I'd want to grow up.

Kids are supposed to love being kids, y'know? But here I am; unable to wait until the day I'm old enough to leave this hell and immaturity. I'm so sick of those immature kids. Why would I want to be like them? And then I look at my parents. Their shallow, hollow life. Why would I want to be like _them_?

I guess I don't really know who I want to be.

I let out a sigh from where I'm sitting on my bed. It's dark; I can barely make out the posters of my favorite bands on the gray walls. A dim nightlight my mother insisted upon is the only source of visibility besides the dull moon peering through the window, casting long shadows that stretch toward me.

It's late. Or early in the morning. Whichever term you prefer. The air is cold despite my sleeves still being rolled up to my elbows, and the house quiet. I'm not sure if I consider it lonely, but there is that one ache of longing always present (or was it my stomach? I hadn't eaten any supper) when I'm able to just sit down and not be caught up with anything besides my thoughts… which hasn't always ended with the best of results.

My mind goes to today's events at school, but I shut it off completely the second the thoughts leak in. I don't want to dwell on any of the normal school occurrences. It wouldn't do me any good. I have no friends there, and therefore no good memories.

I move to allow for the pulling down of covers, deciding it's best I get some sleep despite not wanting to face tomorrow, and squirm underneath them. Once comfortable I close my eyes and try to drift to sleep. It's proving harder than most days as the hour ticks by, but I'm finally slowly beginning to fade.

There's a soft pounding, as if someone's knocking on glass, and then a click.

My eyes have shot open by now, but I haven't moved, scanning the shadows for movement. What was the source of that peculiar noise? But I can't see anything.

Some time passes and I'm reconsidering the whole sleep thing, but then a face fills my vision and I fight back the urge to scream.

Or rather, a hand covering my mouth holds it back.

"Shh," the boy hisses, a playful spark in his bright eyes. "You'll wake the no-funners!" The wha—oh. Grown ups.

I stare at him, not able to speak for a couple of reasons, breaths coming out in wheezing fits. I pray I don't have an asthma attack right now, I can't get to my inhaler.

He seems innocent despite having broken into my house, with a childlike freckled face. But the smaller things, like the way his hair was red and the small scar on his forehead and the glint in his eye gives him an edge of mischief. It doesn't seem like a good combination.

"Now," his playful voice drops an octave, becoming serious. "I have a very important question – so think _really _hard! Got that?"

His hand is still covering my mouth, so I mumble out a muffled affirming sound as well as a nod. The only thing filling my head is the possible ways of alerting my parents of the intruder before he can do much harm.

"Have you seen anything particularly…" His face scrunches up as he searches for the right word, waving his free hand, "_Glowy_ lately?"

My brow raises. _No_, I state flatly in my head as I wheeze, _I have not. Care to elaborate?_ I of course can't say much of anything.

"Ooo-kay," He says, dragging out the word, face still scrunched. "How about Sparkly? Glittery? Bad tempered?"

I stare at him with a flat expression but It takes him a moment, and then he jumps back with a laugh, removing his hand.

"Suppose you can't get much said like that, huh?" He chuckles. Or giggles. It sounds more like a giggle. "How about it though? See anyone fitting the description?"

"No…" I say, eyeing the distance between me and the door. I might be able to make it there, and then down the end of the hall to my parents room. I suppose I could shout too, but I don't see any immediate danger and I don't like yelling.

"Hmm…" He jumps off my bed, flattening himself against the floor to peer underneath it. "I thought for sure she'd come here!"

"What are you looking for?" I ask, sitting up to look down on him. I now notice his peculiar clothes. They're like a ratty hash up of Robin Hood-esque and Native American. Is he homeless?

"Tink," he says simply.

"What's a Tink?"

"Tinker Bell!" He jumps back on my bed and sits cross-legged. "And she's a fairy, not a thing."

I roll my eyes. "Right. I'm a troll. What are you really here for?"

His expression scrunches again and he leans in, studying my face. He doesn't say anything for a moment.

"What's your name?" He finally asks.

"Um…" I eye the door again. Should I…? "Blake." I say.

"Hmm…" He leans in a little closer. "How old are you, Blake?"

"Fourteen."

"You seem," he sits back, gesturing towards all of me. "Older. Somehow."

I bite my lip, playing with the rolled up sleeve of my shirt underneath the covers. A chill sweeps over me and I pull both sleeves down. I don't usually get comments like that. Was it a good thing? I mean, I do want to grow up.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Peter." He says, a mischievous smile both brightening and darkening his face.

A moment of silence passes between us, and I say the only thing that comes to mind as appropriate in the moment.

"Cool name."

He laughs, and then jumps off the bed, running straight for the window. I don't even have a second to call his name before he jumps out. Horror rises in my chest as I throw the covers off and run after him. My room's on the top floor of our house, there was no way he'd make it to the ground without injury.

Heart pounding, I stick my head out and look down – and then my heart stops. He's not on the ground. Where'd he go? I take a step back.

"Hey Bla—"

My scream cuts him off, and I fall back. Peter's hanging upside down outside my window, only his head and torso visible as he looks in.

"What did I tell you about the no-funners?" Peter says, and then disappears.

I blink. "P-Peter?"

He appears again, _floating _down. I stare wide-eyed, gawking as he just floats in front of my window.

"How…?" Is all I can manage.

"Happy thoughts and a little bit of pixie dust." He winks, and then flies into my room, landing perfectly on his feet in front of me. "You look like you need some fun, Blake. Wanna come with me?"


	2. 2 Flying

"Go with you?" I ask, breaths coming in wheezy fits from alarm. The thought of grabbing my inhaler enters; I always fear that I'll have a particularly unbearable asthma attack. "What do you mean?"

"To Neverland, of course! It's a great place, really. Full of adventure and pirates. And oh – all the peculiar people there! No day goes without some sort of fun." Peter says as he walks up to me, his face aglow and full of animation as he offers a hand.

I accept it and he helps pull me up. My legs feel a little wobbly though, and I stumble some before standing straight.

"Where is Neverland, exactly?" I ask.

"Head for the second star on your right, and go on till morning," He grins. "It's the surest way of getting there."

I stumble back over to my bed in the dark, feeling down its length until I come to the nightstand beside it.

"You talk crazy, Peter." I say as I grab my inhaler from atop the stand, shoving it in the pocket of my Batman pajamas. I may need it.

I turn to find that Peter had followed me. He simply smirks at my statement, removing a small pouch from his belt.

"Let me give you a lesson in flying," he says.

My eyes widen, recalling his floating act earlier. "Me? Fly?"

Peter nods, opening the pouch to show me its contents. "A little faith and trust with a side of this and happy thoughts will get you going."

I peer inside the small pouch, and then jerk back from the blinding glow of glittering gold. It literally lights the room.

Blinking, my temporarily blinded vision clears. "What is that?" I ask, approaching again with a little more caution and distance.

"Pixie dust," Peter explains, turning it over to dump a small handful into his palm. And then he brings it up to his chin and blows, the glitter flying into my face.

I cough and sneeze, shaking my head before glaring at him. But he speaks before I can scold him for not giving a warning.

"What makes you happy?"

"I don't—"

"No, don't tell me," Peter jumps on my bed, plopping down. "Think it hard."

My mind blanks. "Um…"

Well, I suppose it can't hurt to entertain the idea, but I just am not sure what makes me happy. I mean, I've never really thought about it before…

My thoughts suddenly take control, and my mind fills with music and art and painting and freedom.

Freedom.

My body feels light with the thought. Freedom from the people of this town. Freedom from this mundane life. Freedom from rules of others. It fills my heart and mind, and instead of initiating a sense of longing, it gives me happiness. It's entering my mind as a sure future, something that I have no doubt will come to pass.

My body is pulsing with excitement.

Peter laughs. I look at him with a questioning expression (did my concentrating face cause him humor? It's known to happen), but he just nods towards me. I look down to see if there's anything funny on my shirt, or maybe it's my bare feet—

My feet aren't touching the ground. I'm sure of it.

But how is that even possible…?

I let out a startled gasp, losing my balance as I flail my arms. I only end up tipping forward, now floating Superman-style, but don't fall flat on the ground.

"That's it," Peter encourages. "You've got it! Keep the thoughts coming, and they'll propel you forward."

I try to, but its hard concentrating. Willing myself to go towards Peter, I find myself successful. Heart fluttering from the thrill and excitement of it all, I can't hold back a crazy grin and laugh.

"So," Peter grins as I land sitting in front of him. "How about that going to Neverland?"

"What about that thing you were looking for?" I ask, the excitement pitching my voice. "Isn't it important?"

"What? Tinker Bell?" His face scrunches up. "Yeah, I've looked all over for her. She's probably back in Neverland somewhere. So how about it then, Blake?"

I glance toward the door. How about it then, Blake? I repeat his words to myself. I'm not sure… I want to go, I mean it's all so exciting and new and not mundane – but what about my parents? I'd have so much to explore and learn and experience from the sounds of things – but what about my life here?

What life?

The single thought makes me decide that second.

"Yeah," I nod my head. "I'll go."

Peter grins and then hops up, gesturing toward the window. "Let's go, then!" And runs for it, jumping out just as before. Only this time I follow, and almost continue through without a second's thought. But my fingers enclose the edge of the window, the cold burning into my senses, and I hesitate.

What am I doing? Following a boy I know nothing about save for a name, who has somehow performed mysterious and magical feats and shared them with me. I'm even about to leave my parents behind.

And the realization hits me.

I don't care about leaving my parents with no explanation. I don't care about following this unknown boy to an unknown place. It's new. It's fun. It's exhilarating. It makes me feel alive in the most unreal way; the fear and anticipation of the magical unknown. When will I get an opportunity such as this again?

"Blake?" Peter says from outside the window. "Are you coming?"

My expression hardens into determination, and I answer with a firm nod. "Yep!"

Mustering up as many happy feelings as I possibly can, pushing back perfectly rational fears (as, after all, the worry of it not working and me falling and then ending up with some major debilitating injury is most certainly a negative feeling) I clench my eyes shut and jump.

I'm not sure what I expect, but a few seconds pass with my eyes still clenched shut. But there isn't any loud smack of my body hitting the ground, or a sickening crack of my legs breaking from falling. There isn't anything except the feeling of being light.

I crack an eye open, and my breath catches.

I'm floating – no, _flying_. The ground is far beneath my feet. Since when has such things become possible?

Peter catches my gaze and offers a wide grin, gesturing for me to follow him as he takes off. What he then yells can be directed to me, but it doesn't quite sound so. I think it's just something he loves shouting to the world.

"Off to Neverland!"


End file.
